Talk Don't Change A Thing
by MaydayParade8123
Summary: A fill for this prompt: 'Punk!Percy and girly!Annabeth'; The first time Percy sees her, she's on the school news. Her hair is curled perfectly, her eyelashes flutter, and her lips are bright red. He's in love. AU; no gods.


_Summary: A fill for this prompt: 'Punk!Percy and girly!Annabeth?'; The first time Percy sees her, she's on the school news. Her hair is curled perfectly, her eyelashes flutter, and her lips are bright red. He's in love._

Disclaimer: I don't own the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, the Heroes of Olympus series, or characters I adopt from those books. Merely the characterization and plot are mine. I also don't own any books, movies, games, music, et cetera that I reference.

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The first time Percy sees her, she's on the school news. Her hair is curled perfectly, her eyelashes flutter, and her lips are bright red.

He's in love.

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As a general rule, Percy does not like 'punky' girls. He feels like they look like him, and it freaks him out a little. Plus, two out of the three girls he knows with a punk rock essence have lip rings, and he has a feeling that could be problematic if they kiss. You know, considering that he has one, too. And it would probably be a little embarrassing to go through the trouble of untangling two metal hoops and—-embarrassment is _so_ not punk rock.

Percy wears jeans tighter than some of the girls at school and his hair is streaked with blue. He's aware that he looks ridiculous half of the time, with his clothing style that's halfway between _grungy homeless man_ and _scene kid from hell_, but he's so far past the point of caring that he just shrugs when it's pointed out.

But there's this girl. _Annabeth._

She has the blondest hair Percy's ever seen, and her lips are always coated in this sanguine color that makes his stomach drop. She wears skirts and dresses nearly every day to school, has a silver bracelet that rests on her wrist constantly, and walks like everyone's eyes are on her. And, to be fair, they probably are.

He's more than aware that she's out of his league, but it doesn't stop him from biting his lip until he draws blood every time she stands near him. It doesn't stop the way his head spins when he smells her fruity perfume, and it definitely doesn't stop his wandering fantasies about how much he would like that red lipstick all over him. _All _over him.

It takes him around two months to have any semblance of interaction with her. But when it happens—-_it happens_.

They're both in the hallway in between classes, and Annabeth's cardigan is lying over her forearm. Percy's staring at her blatantly, so he catches the exact moment the pink fabric falls. Moreso, he catches the fact that Annabeth's expression doesn't alter in the slightest, showing that she didn't notice.

He glances left and right, and clenches his teeth. Picking up a pink cardigan for a girl is probably, like, prohibited in the Punk Rock Handbook of Life.

_But this is Annabeth_, some voice says in his mind, sounding far too reasonable.

So Percy takes the few steps over to her and snatches up her cardigan (maybe if he does it with irritation he'll be the exception to the rule), and offers it to her. "You dropped this," he says flatly.

Annabeth continues to fix her lipstick in her mirror, holding up a hand to him. "One second please," she says pleasantly, and—-it's one of the first times Percy's heard her voice so close to him. His knees feel shaky.

When she turns to look at him, his practiced scowl stutters a little. She grins brightly, taking the article of clothing from him. "My hero," she says, laughing and closing her locker. "I hadn't even noticed that I dropped it."

"I know," Percy says, and… Well, he's a fucking idiot, that's what, because here he is in front of the girl he has the _biggest_ crush on, and he's already made himself sound stupid. He can feel himself blushing. Her smiles seems to widen, and Percy stares at the blood red color of them before he shakes himself. "Uh, sorry. That came out a little. Weird."

"No worries," Annabeth says sweetly, "it wouldn't be the first time a cute boy got a little stuttery around me."

Percy needs a moment. Percy needs a million moments. He also needs a bit of air, because none is making it's way into his lungs. "Oh?" he asks, and yeah. His voice cracks. _This is phenomenal_, he thinks.

Annabeth flutters her eyelashes at him. Honest to god _flutters_ her long, black eyelashes at him. Percy feels faint. "Yeah." She gives him an obvious once over. "It was nice talking to you, Percy."

She walks away before he can manage to get anything out, and Percy's knees nearly give out when he realizes that he never gave her his name. Which means that she knew it. Prior to the conversation.

If he spends five minutes in the bathroom flicking cold water on his face, it's his business and no one else's.

;;

The thing about Annabeth is that she's intimidating. As if a girl in high heels wearing red lipstick wasn't intimidating enough, she's the most intelligent person he knows. It's also something he's starting to become dangerously fond of, because now that he's spoken to Annabeth, she quite literally _won't_get out of his head.

He feels like she knows it, too; knows the way she drives him crazy. Because there's times, in class, where she'll be giving a presentation, and she'll meet his eyes boldly. And then she'll laugh as he drops his pencil along with his jaw, and smirk as he blushes. She's—-She's the _worst_, really, but all he can think about is how pretty her lips are and how her hair just _begs_ to be messed up. She's a walking sin, in his opinion. They should ban her or something, or like. Make her wear a burlap sack and a paper bag over her head.

The next time they speak, Percy's deep in conversation with his friend Axe about Panic! At The Disco's new album. He's just shaking his head and rushing to Brendon Urie's defense when there's a tanned, French-manicured hand on his desk.

"Good morning, Percy," Annabeth says, and Percy just stares at her hand.

He takes a deep breath. "Morning, Annabeth."

She hums in response. "Just thought I'd come over here and let you know that there's something in your hair," she continues, reaching up and—-then she's touching him. Percy's not breathing. He's not breathing at all.

She pulls a small leaf from his hair with a smile. "Part tree?" Annabeth questions with a cheeky grin.

"No," he manages.

She seems amused. "Yeah, probably not, given all that metal on your face."

"Piercings," Percy corrects immediately, scowling.

Annabeth laughs a little, her eyebrows raising in surprise. "Down, boy," she teases. "Don't worry. You look good with them."

Then she walks away like she wasn't just flirting with him and rejoins her friends at the front of the room.

"Jesus fuck," Axe says blatantly at his side. "Like, was that a joke? I didn't even know conversations could be that sexually charged."

Percy pinches his nose and groans quietly. "Oh my _god."_

"You do realize she was just flirting with you, right?" Axe asks. "Like, full-on flirting. Shamelessly. Annabeth Chase."

"I know," Percy answers.

"_Annabeth Chase_," Axe repeats, in awe.

"I know it was fucking Annabeth Chase, you dick, now would you shut the hell up?" And of course, because the world hates him, that's the precise moment everyone in the class goes silent.

He blinks at Axe, who starts grinning slowly. Percy refuses to blush as he glances around the room. "Can I help anyone?" _Stop staring stop staring stop staring_, Percy chants in his head, because punk rock as he may be, people's eyes on him makes him edgy.

Once everyone goes back to whatever they'd been working on in the moment's prior, he spares a glance at Annabeth. She smirks at him momentarily before pursing her lips and nodding seriously at her friend.

Percy drops his head to his desk and doesn't lift it until the bell rings.

;;

Percy dies the next week.

Or, at least, he must die. Because things like what happened just don't _happen_ in real life, or at least not in Percy's life. They just don't.

It's twenty minutes after the bell and he's trudging to his car, being careful not to trip over his untied Converse because he's too cool to actually bend down and tie them. He swings his keys around his index finger and scowls at someone who nearly runs him over, and it's a typical day, really.

"Percy!"

And then it's not a typical day, because Annabeth Chase's curls are bouncing gently as she rushes towards him. She looks frantic—-a side of her he's never seen. Annabeth, in his mind, has always been the most composed, confident, and calm of them all. Once she's within talking distance, he says, "Yeah?"

"You drive, right?" she breathes out, and Percy clenches his teeth. There's no _way_ the universe hates him this mu—- "Because I have a flat tire and none of my friends are answering their phones and my dad's working and I—-"

"It's fine," Percy says, and his voice is a little strained. He clears his throat, reaches out a slightly shaky hand to rest on her shoulder. "Calm down, I'll give you a ride to wherever. As long as it's not, like, China or something."

Annabeth snorts softly, but smiles at him gratefully. "You can't drive to China. It's impossible."

And—-Percy shouldn't be as pleased with her know-it-all, almost cocky attitude, but he's into it. He's _so_ into it. "The point stands," he answers, pulling his hand off her shoulder. "Come on, then."

They walk to his car quietly, and Annabeth doesn't talk until he's trying to back out of his parking space. "Nice car," she compliments, running her hands over the dashboard.

Percy grins at her, tugging at the hem of his black sweater. He's a little overheated at the moment. "Yeah? Thanks." She stares at him for a moment in which Percy holds his breath. "Um, so where am I taking you?"

"Home, if that's alright?"

"Just tell me where it's at," he replies, turning onto the main road.

"China," Annabeth deadpans, and Percy tries really hard to scowl and not laugh, but it happens anyways.

She tells him her address a little after that, explaining through landmarks how to get there. It's only around fifteen minutes from his house, so he's not all that bothered, and Annabeth keeps smoothing her skirt primly and clacking her nails together.

"So," Annabeth says loudly, after ten minutes of silence. "Do you have any hobbies? Besides, you know, piercings and hair dye."

Percy smiles crookedly. "Oh, yeah. I like eyeliner, too."

He's joking, but Annabeth seems interested. "Really? I'm so bad with eyeliner. It's why I only use mascara most of the time."

"I was joking," he says slowly, laughing a little. "I've never wore eyeliner."

"You'd probably look good with it," Annabeth says easily, like she's talking about the weather. "It doesn't really seem like there's anything you don't look good with."

His throat is dry. Like, Sahara Desert dry. He needs a water fountain, or better yet, a whole goddamn waterfall. "Oh. Thanks."

Annabeth hums. "You're welcome."

"You, too, you know," he blurts, squeezing the steering wheel. "Like. You look good all the time, too. Um. Pretty. You're pretty."

Annabeth seems shy. "Yeah?"

Percy nods quickly. "Yeah, yeah, definitely. Always."

The next time he glances over at her, she's blushing. And that's just… A real knife to the chest is what that is.

It doesn't take long to get to Annabeth's house, and he feels a little sad as he pulls up in front of a tan house. "Thanks for the ride."

"Yeah, it's no problem," he answers, fumbling with his sleeves. "I don't mind."

Annabeth's quiet for an extended period of time, and he realizes she hasn't gotten out of his car. Hesitantly, he turns to her, and… Annabeth is staring at him. And he's okay—-you know, except for the part where he's pretty sure he's sweating profusely and his heart is beating so fast he's sure he'll just flatline soon.

And then she bites her lip, and this is the part where Percy's realized he's already died, because she's shifting in her seat, one of her hands finding purchase on the gearshift. Her forehead is probably a millimeter from touching his, and Percy swallows thickly. "Hi," she says, reaching a hand up to touch his eyebrow piercing. "Would it be really weird if we kissed?"

Percy doesn't think he could say no, even if he wanted to. "Nope, no. No. It would be—-yeah. It wouldn't be. _Weird_, or whatever. It'd be fine. Better than fine, I think, so—-"

"Okay," Annabeth says, huffing out a laugh. She takes a deep breath, then leans forward, and then Percy is very much kissing the lips he's been thinking about for months.

He pushes a hand into her hair and urges her closer, and Annabeth makes a sound against his lips that almost makes Percy wince. She's like a sensory overload.

Annabeth pulls back first, and she blinks slowly at him. Percy's whole face is probably the color of her lipstick at this point, but Annabeth drops her hand from his eyebrow down so that it's brushing his lip ring. "Okay," she says again.

"Um," Percy states eloquently. "Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_," Annabeth says in a teasing voice. Percy hesitates before he leans forward and kisses her again, because he's not really sure if he has permission, but he never wants to stop. She kisses him back, even presses at his lip ring with her thumb, and Percy's sure he's in heaven. He's died and he's in heaven, because things like this don't happen to him.

Annabeth is the first to move back again, but this time she looks regretful. "I have two essays to write."

"That's a shame," Percy answers, and his voice sounds a bit wrecked. He clears his throat. "I mean. Yeah. Write your essays."

"I'm going to," she says, tugging at his lip piercing a little. "I think I like this thing."

"I hope so," Percy says daringly. "You'll probably have to get used to it if we decide to keep kissing."

"You think we could?" Annabeth asks, retracting her hand from his face. It feels like he's lost something. "Keep doing that, I mean?"

He nearly falls over himself in his haste to agree. "Yes, please."

"Polite," she mutters, flipping down his mirror. "Hm. You didn't even mess up my lipstick. I'll keep you, then."

He laughs, covering his face with one hand as Annabeth swings open his car door. "I'll see you later?" he asks.

Annabeth nods, fluttering her fingers over her shoulder. She goes inside, and Percy slams his head on his steering wheel. "Jesus. Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ in fucking swaddling clothes in a fucking manger in God damn Bethlehem," he says, being, oh, twenty different kinds of sacrilegious.

There's a hint of red lipstick still on his lips and the lingering scent of oranges. Naturally, Percy smiles the whole way home.

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FIN

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